Whisper
by sakuyavalentine
Summary: One-shot. Leon.


**Whisper**

.

"I'm frightened by what I see.  
But somehow I know  
that there's much more to come."

- Evanescence - _Whisper_

_._

When he'd decided, at the ripe old age of four, that he wanted to help people, this wasn't exactly what he'd had in mind.

Of course, truth be told, his visionaries of the future had been rather… implausible; a dream world in which he was the hero strapped in colourful pyjamas scaling rooftops for the sake of a couple hundred innocent lives. But, he was a child, and children had little insight into the true nature of things.

With time, Leon's expectations for the world, and ultimately himself, changed from heroes in spandex to the humble officers clad in blue and carbon fiber, when he'd signed up as a law enforcement officer appointed to the Midwestern town of Raccoon City.

He'd expected to aid the community by investigating domestic disturbances, thwart villainous attempts of armed robbery, chasing cars along the highways, classic _police _stuff.

Now, four years later, standing knee-deep in tick-infested grass, mud and water that soaked through his thick loafers and socks, creating a rather uncomfortable squishy sensation between his toes, Leon was discovering, once again, that life was one hell of a bitch.

An ironic bitch, really. In the stories he read in his youth, the angry villagers waving flaming torches and sharp, pointy pitchforks blundered and swarmed the haunted castle where Dr. Frankenstein and his monster dwelled, determined to rid the world of such satanic beings. So why, in reality, were the angry villagers waving flaming torches and sharp, pointy pitchforks, blundering towards him, the good guy?

Leon pressed a switch, and the bottom of his handgun sprung open. With a flick of his wrist, he filled the cartridge and snapped it shut, raising the weapon until a small red dot appeared between the beady black eyes of the nearest raging villager.

In one second, his finger hesitated on the trigger. In the next, it squeezed and the dot disappeared along with the head. He tried to forget these people weren't zombies like the ones he'd met in Raccoon City and changed his life forever.

Like shooting bottles at the annual autumn fair, he picked them off one by one until there was a clear path through the swarm. The shouts, and flailing pitchforks, followed him around brick houses and thatched roofs, through puddles and manure from lazy cows, and crackling fires cooking corpses like a Medieval witch trial.

He sought sanctuary in a cottage, barring the door with a bookshelf covered in dust. He sagged against the wall, expelling a deep breath. If he'd learned anything from Raccoon City, it was that, as stupid as they were, the living dead weren't that stupid. As soon as they realized the door was blocked, they'd attempt to break it down while others staggered towards the windows; divide and conquer.

Over the pounding fists and angry roars, Leon felt his blood run cold. The chord was pulled and the serrated edges of a chainsaw began to turn rapidly. Leon peered out the window, watching the husky man, his face covered with a burlap bag, trudge over, chainsaw high.

"Oh shit." In the corner, a set of warped stairs led to a loft overlooking the front yard. Likely, if they could reach the roof, they could enter through the windows and catch him from behind. So, up the stairs he went, taking them two and three at a time. When he reached the second floor, ugly, pale faces were already snarling at the window.

Knocking his frothy-mouthed brethren aside, the burlap executioner with his chainsaw of doom thundered along the roof, shaking loose shingles, and ploughed through the window, through the wood even, roaring like the mighty beast he was. Leon raised his gun, aiming the little red dot between his freakishly small burlap-covered eyes and squeezed the trigger.

When Leon decided that he wanted to help people, facing off against angry, undead farmers wasn't exactly what he'd had in mind. _The president's daughter_, he thought as he stared at himself, reflected on the blood-caked whirling blade, _had better be damn pretty._

_._

_fin_

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**Disclaimer: **Leon S. Kennedy and all _Resident Evil _characters are property of Capcom.


End file.
